Of Filth and Wretchedness

One stroke and a paroxysm worst than madness
If not madness would have been better-
Of the hateful days curling and stretching into a swoon,
I say madness would have been better.
Death- even better
Natural occasion clad in mystery
And why should one be afraid?
It's the ultimate hangman of misery.
But this abomination is a disease
Incessantly spreading with vile and greedy claws
And madness and death would have been better
Than to drown in foul waters of Eros.
What sort of devilry has planted this seed of corruption?
Of flesh unyielding to all sorts of self- possession
And of that shrill sound of imaginary bells
All die down to metaphysical elation.
Obscene images float into the realm of thoughts
Excite one's twitching and wimpish heart
For a promise of dear beloved Heaven-
Fraud! Heaven made of fiddles and swindles.
Of the gradual fictitious morphine
and the abhorrent hedonism
Of the silent screams and the rush of blood
Of the dilation of the eyes and the pulsation of a structure of cells and tissues,
Madness and death would have been better-
For in madness there is absolution
And in death, redemption.